


Traffic Stop

by brightly_lit



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-20
Updated: 2013-07-20
Packaged: 2017-12-20 19:04:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/890754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightly_lit/pseuds/brightly_lit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small-town cop with a habit of taking care of "bad guys" using his own questionable methods pulls over a black '67 Impala for a minor traffic violation.</p><p>"Laughing, he was laughing. These psychopaths. What had Troy gotten himself into?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Traffic Stop

Troy was just getting started on his Arby’s lunch when some punk in a shiny black muscle car flew past going way too fast for this sleepy Wyoming town.  The radar gun caught him doing 62 in a 35.  Troy smiled grimly. 

 

Troy wouldn’t call himself a bad cop.  Of course he wouldn’t.  He might, however, say that he made sure justice was served whether a judge and jury agreed with him or not.  He might say some of these punks didn’t really require a trial at all.  Why put the good citizens of the county through something like that, wasting tax dollars, when Troy could take care of it all by himself and make sure the fear of God had been deeply instilled in the offender--deeply enough, at least, to make sure they would never, ever show their faces around these parts again.  He flipped on the lights and gave chase.

 

Troy actually thought for a moment that the car wasn’t going to stop.  He could swear it even sped up for a few seconds before the brake lights came on and it coasted to a leisurely stop at the side of an empty road that got almost no traffic with no houses nearby and thus no witnesses for whatever Troy might decide was necessary to take care of these little pricks--he could see the two guys through the rear window, plainly arguing.  Troy made sure his gun was handy and loaded with the safety off before getting out of his car and approaching the driver’s side. 

 

The first thing Troy saw was the shit-eating grin the driver was wearing.  The second thing he saw was the stick of jerky in his hand.  “Hey, officer, how’s it going?” he said, squinting in the sunlight as he stuck his head out the window.  “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

 

Oh, yeah, these guys were bad news.  This was how criminals always greeted cops--way too friendly, disarming.  Troy took in their appearance: good-looking guys, both of them, but dressed down, with the look of transients.  The passenger was also smiling at him, and then tried to feed him the “nice college boys” line.  “My brother and I were just passing through here.  He’s taking me back to school.”

 

“Yeah,” agreed the driver, his smile widening, somehow in the process becoming even more insincere.  “He’s going to the same college I went to.”  He punched the passenger on the arm.  “My Sammy, following in his big brother’s footsteps.”

 

“Step out of the car, please,” Troy said coolly.

 

The driver showed genuine emotion for a moment--truly startled.  He tried to be winningly conspiratorial, chuckling a little.  “I, uh ... you know, officer, I know I was speeding.  Maybe we can take care of this here and now ....”  He pulled a wad of cash out of his jacket and offered it to Troy, who took it and tucked it in his shirt pocket.

 

“Step out of the car, sir.”

 

The driver and the passenger exchanged looks and a quick hissed conversation.  “Dean, no!”

 

The driver--‘Dean’--gave the passenger a helpless shrug and got out of the car, holding out his hands as if ... well, as if he had a lot of practice at this.  Oh, boy, Troy had caught himself a couple of live ones.  He radioed for backup, knowing Walt would come.  He and Walt had taken care of many a ne’er-do-well on these back roads together, just the two of them.  “Wh--you don’t need backup!” Dean complained.

 

“Turn around and put your hands on the car.”

 

“You can’t arrest me for speeding a little!  I was in a hurry--my brother’s late getting back for his classes--”

 

“I’m not arresting you,” Troy said, a thin smile beginning to spread across his face.  “Yet.”

 

Dean reluctantly put his hands on the car, and Troy patted him down.  “Careful now.  Seems like you’re enjoying that more than you should, ‘officer,’” Dean said, upon which Troy ‘accidentally’ shoved him off-balance with an extra-hard pat, and Dean stumbled.  Troy saw him and his accomplice give each other another look through the window.  Troy was pleased to see the look of helpless fear on the passenger’s face.  The driver was a cocky son of a bitch, but the passenger was beginning to get the picture.

 

Troy looked the car over, and the driver too, now that he could get a good gander.  Troy was sure from the looks of him that he could probably get an open container violation off him at least, but he was betting he could do better than that.  “Open the trunk, please.”

 

“Aw, come on!” Dean growled.

 

Troy conspicuously put his hand on his gun.  Dean looked irritated for a few seconds, rolled his eyes, leaned in the window to snatch the keys out of the ignition (muttering something to the passenger as he did so), and opened the trunk.  “See?” he gestured in the trunk impatiently, fixing to close it almost as soon as he’d opened it.  “Nothing but Sammy’s duffle.”

 

“Wait,” said Troy, spying something wooden poking out from under the board covering what he assumed was where the spare tire would be.  Pushing the duffle aside, he lifted the corner of the board.  Jackpot.  A big grin cracked his face.  He met Dean’s eyes, where he saw exactly the “oh, shit” expression he’d been hoping for.

 

Then he saw an expression he wasn’t expecting at all: bored irritation, as if Troy was a not-unexpected, minor irritation, the like of which Dean saw every day.  Dean’s eyes flicked to Troy’s walkie-talkie, where Walt was just reporting that he was only a couple minutes away.  “Fuck,” Dean muttered.

 

It happened so fast, Troy couldn’t have said exactly what Dean did, but it was definitely Dean, because the passenger jumped out of the car as Dean dragged a sagging Troy over, wrenched open the door while bracing Troy’s weight, and tossed him in the backseat, too dazed to struggle.  He’d hit his head--in fact, due to the sound of ringing metal echoing in his mind, Troy thought Dean must have slammed his head against the car.  He hadn’t reached for any of the weapons under the board in the trunk; he’d used his hands.  Who knew how to fight that way?  Troy hadn’t learned any of this at police academy.  Troy squinted as his vision swam.  Was that the same wad of cash Troy had pocketed that Dean was now tucking back into his jacket?

 

“Dean, what the hell?” the passenger was saying, freaked out.  So maybe it was Dean who was the criminal, and the passenger was innocent of his criminal ways--until now.

 

“His partner’s coming,” Dean said fast, starting the engine with a roar.  “Get in, Sam.”  Sam--that was the passenger’s name.

 

“So leave him here!” said Sam.

 

“They’ll be able to bring him around and then they’re after us.  We’ll ditch him across the county line or something.  Get in!”

 

Sam got in, putting on his seatbelt with a primly disapproving expression.  “Great.  Kidnapping?  Told you you shouldn’t have gotten out of the car.”  Okay, Troy thought.  Not innocent after all.

 

“Well, what was I supposed to do?” Dean complained, peeling out.  “Cop tells you to get out of the car, you get out of the car!”  Had Troy completely misjudged them?  Was Dean the innocent one, and Sam the hardened criminal after all?

 

Sam laughed.  “You’re right.  That’s much worse than assault and kidnapping.”  Laughing, he was laughing.  These psychopaths.  What had Troy gotten himself into?

 

“Sammy,” Dean growled, “what was I supposed to do, drive away?  He’d have called it in, put out an APB on us, and we’d be dealing with every fucking cop between here and Texas.  This is much better.”  Obviously, when Troy thought this was all in a day for these guys, he wasn’t wrong. 

 

“I know, I’m not complaining, I’m just saying, he’s obviously a bad cop; you should have taken care of him sooner.  Shouldn’t have gotten out of the car; you left yourself open.  His safety’s off, you know.”  He sounded like someone out of a movie, the savant who noticed every little detail--every detail related to anything criminal, anyway.  Who WERE these guys??

 

“How do you knock someone out through the window?!”  Dean didn’t really talk to his collaborator that differently from how he’d talked to Troy--casual, like this was nothing.  Actually, his tone of voice reminded Troy most of boys on the playground bragging about their mad skills, bantering and arguing over which fighting move they’d seen on their favorite t.v. show would be most effective ... only these guys knew more moves than any t.v. badass, and they were hardly naïve boys.  Maybe it was true when he’d said they were brothers; that was the familiarly argumentative tone they were both using.  Bonnie and Clyde, only brothers instead of lovers.  Why, why did Troy pick them to come after?  He should have finished his Arby’s in peace.

 

“Dean, all I’m saying is, you know, what would Dad say?  ‘Training Day’ back there could have shot you while he was patting you down, or when you were walking to the trunk.”  Again, the computer brother, analyzing the scene with hard, cold data.

 

“Looked like he was thinking about it,” Dean mumbled.  Troy was coming back to himself enough to be offended.  How dare they!  Calling him a ‘bad cop’ like this was simple fact--these low-lifes who were a threat to every living creature around them.  Troy wasn’t one for executions, but obviously, in this case, he’d be doing the world a favor--nay, he’d be a damn hero. 

 

Surreptitiously, barely moving, he reached for his gun, as his captors began arguing over beef jerky, whether the peppery kind was better or not.  Troy noted that they both argued over this with greater passion than they’d argued over how best to deal with Troy.  Troy’s eyes met Dean’s briefly in the rearview mirror.  Dean said casually, “He’s coming around.”  The last thing Troy saw that day was Sam’s calmly matter-of-fact expression as his fist came at Troy’s face--a fist holding a stick of jerky.

 

 

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> \- I love love love the Henriksen episodes, and all the times Sam and Dean have had run-ins with the law (and how casual they are about it, as if the law is nothing but a minor nuisance getting in the way of their doing their job). I originally wanted to simply write about a routine traffic stop going horribly awry for a normal cop, but for it to be Winchester levels of trouble for the cop, I had to make sure the cop's character wasn't the least bit sympathetic. 
> 
> \- So, this is the second fic with bad guys from Wyoming. (The first can be found here. It's called "Stuck": http://archiveofourown.org/works/680803 ) What can I say, I had some bad times in Wyoming.


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